CLOSED SIGNUPS A Sin of No Name

Kuno

Ugh. As if
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School life
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  • Bucket of Rainbows
Reactions: Red Thunder

Kuno

Ugh. As if
Original poster
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
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One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Adaptable
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No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I'm fine doing both. However, while I am ok with being the passive player, it would be nice if the aggressive player took suggestions from me every once in a while.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Sci fi, Romance, Historical, Modern, Supernatural
Genre You DON'T Like
School life
Alfa
Eczar
Waiting for the Sunrise

DAY ONE


Not much greeted the newcomers at first sight.

At face value, Highland resembled any other mining town in the desert West. The buildings were of mean and functional builds, evenly spaced across the land in a tight circle formation. Signs of life were few and far between.

A lone man watched the carriages arrive into his town. Leaning against the fence of his porch, he squinted as the street in front of his home began to fill with newcomers. It was a sight he would have to get used to; the mayor stipulated that all those answering the ad go to him first. It’d been his only demand. He shifted his arms; the golden badge of a sheriff glinted in the sun.

As they clustered before him, the sheriff gave the newcomers a once-over before making a crude noise. He jerked his head at the coachman. “What, d’ya go off and bring the whole county, ‘en? Tch.”

“Hey now, your mayor said bring ‘em, so I brought ‘em.” The coachman argued, getting back onto his seat. “Don’t shoot the messenger now.”

“Oh, sure. Rightly so.”

The sheriff stepped off his porch, coming around to where the newcomers waited by the carriages. He was an older gentleman of his early 60s. Sprouting a thick mustache and a firm, wiry build, he looked to be a man of a stout constitution, if not a tad unfriendly. He spotted the firearms at some of the men’s sides, and he scowled.

“The mayor is in-di-sposed presently and won’t be available until tomorrow, so I’m here to run this circus for now. Says to give you a proper welcome.”

He paused. Gnawed a bit on his snuff, long and slow like a cow chewing cud.

“Don’t have much to say, ‘cept to keep your nose clean and out of trouble. Follow the laws of the land and such. Here in Highland…” His head swiveled, regarding the crowd sternly. “I am the law. There will be no fightin’, no shootin’, no brazen conduct. You got quarrelin’ to do, you do it right and proper in the mayor’s office. Understand?”

His distaste for the newcomers was written all over his face. He shifted where he stood, thumbs hooking through the holsters at his hips.

“I’m to understand you’re all here to work. The mayor will get ya settled in that regard. For now, I’d get lodgings over at the Inn if I were you. No one is to be out after dark. Understand?”

The look in his eyes dared someone to question him. When no reply was made, he sniffed and threw a glance at the sky. The sun was still high in the sky...for now. He tipped the brim of his hat down.

“Welcome to Highland, folks.”

He spat off to the side and turned away, walking back up the steps to his home.

GM NOTE:

PoetLore PoetLore Red Thunder Red Thunder Hamlowe Hamlowe Doctor Jax Doctor Jax Applo Applo The Wanderer The Wanderer Mobley Eats Mobley Eats Youreverydaywildchild Youreverydaywildchild

WELCOME TO HIGHLAND

There are a few things you should note about the rp mechanics.

You may have noticed that the NPC list for Highland in Lore is conspicuously absent. That is because information for citizens of Highland will only be revealed once they have been “unlocked”, or encountered within the story. There are 15 NPCs in total, and each play an integral role to the story, so make sure you keep an eye out for that sweet, sweet background info in lore!

I will not be making official announcements for GM posts. They will be sprung onto you players at random with little warning (if you’re in the discord, keep an eye out for the tell-tale gif). This story’s progression will be broken into days, with all the day’s activities ending at sunset. If you can not squeeze in a post before the day’s over with, well...your character might run into a little bit of trouble.

After each day's progression, one of you players will be made privy to a"plot candy". A plot candy will take form in either an item, scene, or piece of dialogue that other characters will be unaware of. Plot candies will be handed out indiscriminately based on character proximity to certain areas and/or will be chosen at random. It is up to you whether you incorporate the plot candy into your posts or not! Just know that everyone will receive at least one before the story comes to a close. And I would keep a good record of them if I were you. They could come into play later on...



For Day One’s activity:

It is currently 1 pm on a Sunday afternoon. The date is October 7th, 1879.

This is your first day in town, so feel free to explore! The streets are noticeably empty. But who knows; poke around a bit, and you might find some townsfolk going about their day.

There are two locations where temporary lodging can be found: The West Inn and The Saloon. The latter has only one room available while the former has 7 to count. Make sure your characters find lodging before dusk.

 
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The Wanderer

Mysterious Stranger
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Both.
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Any.
David

The carriage ride was long and uncomfortable considering the size of the group that the coachman was transporting. But David left any complaining to the others, keeping his mouth shut as whining would only get the ire of the coachman and the others, instead using energy that would otherwise been wasted on complaining, to keeping a close eye and grip on the bag that held more of his belongings from a few knives to items to make a bow.

But hopefully he would have no need to make one nor use any of his old gear. He's just here to work and move on.

As they rolled into town, the drab look of everything barely effected David that much, truth be told. Too many a town that didn't run along the coast or near New York failed due to either tainted water sources, or the local wildlife or people being too hostile. Or because the staple of the town drained up, like this one town that had a mine nearby that was practically bustling that everyone was rich and no crime was committed. Then the mine dried up, and all of a sudden, everyone's world came crashing down. People were shot, stores robbed while the sensible ones bailed.

Part of David wondered what caused this town's misery. But alas, he was going to be moving on soon.

Hopefully that is.

As they all filed out and stood before what seemed like the local sheriff, of whom spoke to them about the rules of the town and where to go for lodging, really all David needed to know.

Not wasting his time, he went over to the Inn, hoping they had some lodgings available. The ride here was long, and he wanted to put his things away before the apparent appointment with the mayor with the other newcomers for their employment options..
 

Mobley Eats

Consume. Smother your doubts. Be fulfilled.
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Horror, Mystery (I like them, just not good at it)






Moses
Interactions: A Willing Drinking Buddy



It was damn hot.

He kinda liked it, though Moses could admit that he wasn't keen on getting any tanner. What good would it do him? Absolutely nothing, that's what. At most, some more eyes would linger, more than usual and his main mission was to start flying solo in peace. Well, just for a little while. Just until he got good footing underneath him; got a successful business up and running, found himself a nice partner, start a family, and rock on his porch until his old bones wound up buried with the rest.

Yeah... That was a simpleton's dream. Good thing Moses didn't care for complexity anymore. It was just too much damn work and he was... tired. Perpetually. Everlasting. Eternally.

Heh... Look at his thoughts wandering. They always did that while out in the heat, didn't they? Pesky little mobile cretins; if he had the motivation, he would've gave himself a stern talking to, a swift monologue to the noggin, but there wasn't no use in that. None at all. None whatsoever--

Ah, it seemed the cart was finally slowing down. Moses took in his new home with bored eyes. Highland, the rumored town of new beginnings. He vaguely wondered if people who experienced an unforeseen came here for that second chance. Maybe that was some unheard requirement. That's it--this was just all a test. Even the sheriff's prickly nature must've been in cahoots with this grand scheme.

Or, most likely of them all, Moses got swept away in entertaining himself with absurd anecdotes. Heh... Yeah, that was it. Regardless, he tuned back in, expression unreadable aside from the exhaustion bags under his eyes, and hung onto the sheriff's every gruff word. An indisposed mayor? For a town expecting new folks to come rolling in at any moment? Seemed suspicious... Actually, no. He was just looking into too much too early. Lodging was top priority now. Maybe a drink before that--ride done went and plagued him with a nasty case of the cotton mouth.

Moses the descended carriage without much preamble, his self-tailored boots smacking into dirt with a satisfying thud. He threw his sack over one shoulder, thick thread cutting into his skin. Nice and familiar. Kinda comforting, if not sharpening to the senses, at least. That was always good to have, especially in unknown territory.

Heaving an inaudible sigh, Moses pivoted and took in the newcomers he'd rode along with. None of them seemed dangerous. Correction--none of them screamed of immediate hostility, which was good enough for Moses. If he played his cards civilly enough, the day would turn out smoother than the immaculate swoop of his jet black hair. "Leather neck roadies," he called out flatly, "Y'all looking to give the saloon a sit in with me? I'll pay. For a party'a two, of course."

 

Applo

Beautiful like a Forest Fire
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“I’ll take ya up on that offer Handsome.”

With her hands resting on her hip, Henrietta’s petulant gaze was fixed firmly on the sheriffs retreating back rather than the man she’d just accepted a drink from. The Lawman was a sourfaced old bastard no doubt. A small man in a small town who thought they were something. Giving them a curfew like they were children and he was their father. Take away that shiny badge of his and the man would be just a damned silly old fool in what seemed to be a god-forsaken nowhere town. At any other time in her life, Henrietta would have taken one look at this miserable excuse of a town and kept on riding. Right now though, to be no-one and no-where was just what she was looking for. How could the past ever find her here?

Her train of thought at an end, Henrietta spun on the heel of her boot and made to unhitch Arthur’s hors- HER horse from the back of the coach. She had no idea where she would stable the beast or if she would even have a need for it now, but it was worth a good sum of anybody's money; Henrietta wasn’t about to let that walk away from her, besides, she had a soft spot for the silly old thing. For now it was worth the headaches it would inevitably cause and she gently stroked the beasts neck as she lead it towards the saloon before it struck her that she had no idea who it was she had said she would accompany. She had called them handsome out of habit in response to the male voice. Turning back to the group the red-head surveyed her fellow new arrivals anew. She could rule out the two other women in the group, but that was it.

“Well don’t keep a girl waiting now.”



The inside of the saloon was a predictably depressing affair. Henrietta had let her hopes up as she had been hitching her horse; the freshly decorated exterior had suggested an establishment that enjoyed a flourishing trade that might have just a hint class about it. The inside though dashed those hopes by being everything that she had actually expected from the saloon having glimpsed a little of Highland. Stained walls and scuffed furniture was de rigueur for this kind of town. Glamour and style tended to keep itself to civilised places like Kansas. Still, there was no point being to sour about it. She had worked in worse places. Probably. She was certain she could recall one if she thought about it, but that would have to be an indulgence for later. There was work to be done now.

Placing her bags by the bar and composing herself with as much elegance as she could muster after a long day of riding, Henrietta flashed the bar man her most coquettish smile.

“How’s business these days. This place looks like it sees it share of excitement.”​

 

Hamlowe

Journeyman
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Fr McCarthy Avatar.jpg
Father McCarthy


On the other end of town, in the lonely chapel, Father McCarthy knelt at the rail in prayer. He'd arrived ahead of the rest of the party for the sake of assisting at Father Thompson's offering of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. He'd hardly expected to be offering the Sacrifice himself. He'd hardly expected to hear that Father Thompson had died in the past week and been buried without even a simple prayer service in the manner of the Protestants. Already he had planned half of his letter back to Archbishop Gibbons. Need altar breads, need wine, need another priest, need another set of altar candles. Practically the only thing they didn't need was incense.

But there were more important things, he realized as he rose. He needed to break the news of Father Thompson's passing and his consequent elevation in responsibility. He blessed himself with another genuflection to the Sanctissimum, then departed, taking the black Stetson from its place by the door.

The carriage was already discharging its occupants. He picked up his pace, not wishing to make a poor first impression by being late. By the time he reached them, however, the sheriff had already left, as had two of the party, a mulatto man who seemed a hand-laborer and a dark-haired woman who seemed a perfect siren. Father McCarthy watched them enter the saloon briefly before turning his gaze back to the main party before him.

"Welcome," he said with a smile, doffing his hat for the ladies still present. "I suppose I'm now chaplain or somesuch at the mission down yonder." He indicated the chapel with a gesture from his hat hand. "I'm happy to meet anyone of the Catholic faith, and anyone inquiring."
 

Mobley Eats

Consume. Smother your doubts. Be fulfilled.
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Moses
Interactions: Bar Dog & Henrietta Applo Applo



Ah... They speak. That was good. Moses almost feared that the first volunteer would leave him lonely in conversation; worse than that, responsible for keeping it afloat. He wasn't a genius when it came talking, not sustaining it anyhow. He tried to do that once, tried to get the wheel rolling for as long as he could, but he lasted all of two minutes before letting awkward silence fall over them. And the poor man next to him had been drunk. An affectionate drunk.

He kinda missed the touchy bastard. Kinda--in the fact that Moses didn't remember his name; just a pair of rosy cheeks and a half-dead rodent sitting on his upper lip. That wasn't no goddamn mustache. Ain't no way...

Off topic.

"Well don't keep a girl waiting now."

Oh... right. His new drinking partner. Adjusting his tie, Moses nodded and trailed after a the woman, subconsciously keeping a polite distance between them. He only ever closed the distance as they reached the saloon to open the door for her, albeit with little thought. The inside of the Saloon wasn't much of a surprise, despite how deceitful its outside apparel proved to be. He knew better than anyone that a skin was the worst tool of judgement known to man.

As the woman seated herself and immediately dazzled the man with a flirtatious smile, a confirmation clicked in Moses's head. Handsome. Damn pretty smile. Hopped on the free drink bandwagon... Right then. I reckon I'm starting to get this down. Yeah, this woman was singing a familiar tune and he heard it loud and clear.

Not that it was a bother for him. Civility was still the name of the game, along with sticking true to his word.

He took up a stool next to her at the bar and waited patiently for her to pitch in her two cents before tossing in his own. "Two base burners for me and the young lady," he muttered. Eh, who knew her real age? Didn't matter to him. Vitality just wasn't seen right these days; overlooked as soon as her skin didn't quite shine and bounce the way a swimming noggin wanted. Meanwhile, his Pa used to swoon over Ma like a baby-faced teen well into their forties. Moses glanced at the woman from his peripherals, trying to juggle around the right words on his tongue. "I'm Moses," a ghost of a grin tugged at his lips, "Though you can stick with Handsome. Won't complain... You?"


 

Youreverydaywildchild

Connoisseur of cannabis and 90s nostalgia
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Helene had been on the wagon what felt like months, but it had only been a handful of days.

The family she was traveling with welcomed her with opened arms. Helene was grateful but a little concerned about their disregard for her as a threat. For all they know she could have been the on to kill her family. Helene touched her temple at the thought as the wagon moved over the dirt and sand covered expansion.

Helene couldn't remember much, rather she couldn't remember a large part of her recent history. The brunette remembers her home in New Hampshire, of her parents and siblings. She rememebered being a nurse in the War, about her brother passing as well, anything after was.... hazy and jumbled up. Helene couldn't make sense of any of it. Borris and Maybelle, reassured her that the memories would come back eventually. That maybe she was so scared about what happened to her it was the shock.

"Yer brain don wen'd locked up on ya. Don wan remember some'n cause it to hard. To much hurt."

Borris said this to her the second night of them all traveling together. In a way he was trying to cheer poor Helene up.

Helene could only repay their kindness by helping Maybelle with cooking, cleaning laundry, and watching their kids while on the road. Helene enjoyed the children, every passing moment with them felt right. Like she belonged around children. They liked her back, with Helene's funny way of speaking, and her many tall tales of animals and fairies it made Helene the perfect traveling companion.

Sadly their journey together was coming to an end. Borris made his way to Highland at noon, when the sun was at its highest.

Helene and the children watched from the wagon as they passed into town. It looked like any other small western town. A few shops, houses, a saloon of course and a mail post. The kids saw it before Helene did and pointed out the church. This made Helene's chest swell. Living her whole life in a church, it wouldn't sit right with Helene if she was apart from God to long.

The wagon stopped, Borris had made his way to the back after helping Maybelle to get them out. Helene want first then the kids. As her boots made work of the beatened earth Helen gave the town a look over. The heat of midday clinging to her body.

Helene noticed the crowd of people just a few feet into the town. Turning to her traveling companions she smiled. "Well, this is where we part ways. Are you wouldn't like to stay?"

The children pleaded with their parents they didnt want to part from their new friend, Borris and Maybelle just shook their heads. "Nah, we got te get on to our place. It ain't that far north of here. Maybe we come back sometim'n visit."

"I would appreciate that." Helene went in and gave Maybelle and the children hugs. Borris gave her a firm hand shake and then they were off again. Their little wagon and horse turned away as they road out. Helene waved to the children who were shouting from the back.

Not wanting to miss anything important, Helene hiked up her skirt and trotted over to the large group of people in the center of town. A gruff voice got louder as she moved to the back. A stiff looking man stood before the group, judging by the shiny badge on his shirt he was the law of the town. "I thought the Mayor was going to see us..." Helene spoke to herself as she half listened to the sheriff.

At the mentioning of lodgings Helene replied her focus onto the sheriff. Work and the likes would be handled by the Mayor in time. For now they were expected to find a place to sleep before dark. As he turned away from the crowd. Helene took into her sights the West Inn. The saloon was not an appeasing place to her in the slightest. Besides she wanted turn in and be one of the first to speak to the Mayor about work. Helene had a hard time remembering who she was in the past couple years but she knew her talents. Medical work, child care, and cooking. Maybe the Mayor needed a maid or the town doctor a nurse. She would have to see.

As she walked over to the Inn a man passed by her, who she could only assume was the priest. She stopped, did a curtsey and bid him a good afternoon before turning her sights back onto her mission. She would need to visit the church before sun down to give thanks to her lord God.

Helene traveled up the worn down steps of the inn to the front door. The inside was a lot cooler than the town center, and Helene took a moment to let the cool air hit her face. She then went to the front desk addressing whoever was behind it.

"Hello? I just came into town... I would like a room if you have any to spare." Helene hoped that whoever heard her was a bit friendlier than the sheriff.

As she waited Helen realized there was another person in the lobby with her. A man who was probably a new comer like her. Helene nods his way. "Hello, how do you do?" A simple and formal invitation for conversation. If he didn't take to it, Helene wouldn't be bothered. She was quite tired to begin with and wasn't up for any long conversations.

The Wanderer The Wanderer
 
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Red Thunder

A Warrior in a Garden
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El Bandito Guapo

Screenshot_20191214-141453~2.png

Water streamed down his throat, filling his mouth in excess of his ability to consume it. It flowed down the corners of his lips, the precious liquid lost to the heat before he could stop drinking from his canteen. Cheeks bulging, he swallowed the water slowly, savoring the relative coolness against the arid atmosphere. It was a balm against the pain of existing in such a place. But then, life was pain, and anyone who said differently was selling something.

Jorge capped his canteen, letting it catch against the strap about his shoulder. He sighed in relief; water out, water in. Having finished relieving himself against an unhappy looking cactus, he resecured his pants and carefully picked his way back to the old nag he'd left secured to an outcropping of stone. He cast a disparaging look at the beast before climbing back into the saddle. She looked at him sullenly. The nag, Perra, was all that remained to him of his escapades, save for the measly $40 he'd secreted about his person, and by the treatment she received at his hand, it appeared that he thought her solely responsible for his turn of fate. Having settled himself as comfortably as he might, Jorge dug hugs spurs into her sides and snapped the reins; the convoy had pulled out of sight, and he was damned if he would miss the opportunity to miss warning a few dollars more because his damned horse couldn't keep a reasonable pace.

It wasn't that much further to the town, luckily, and he could just make out the forms of the carriages and the small crowd like ants about them. He was perhaps a few minutes behind. Roughly, the mare was urged on, with nary a look of protest or hurt from the creature. She picked up the pace, barely, but brought her rider inevitably to Highland.

Time Jorge had arrived, the crowd had begun to disperse. Like a shepherd watching his sheep, or maybe like a wolf with sated appetite, a man eyed the people. Jorge in turn eyed him. He was a dangerous character, he felt sure, and the gleam of brass on his chest was surely not there only for looks. The Sheriff, then. By all accounts, those seeking work were supposed to make contact with the Mayor, but in lieu of that, the traveler supposed the Sheriff was the next best option.

The thought gave him pause, and he tugged the reins to pull Perra to a stop. Jorge had plenty of reason to not talk to the man; the innumerable horses wrangled and travelers robbed and innocents murdered weighed on his mind, and his face tightened. There was a bounty, he knew, and who was to say that the Sheriff wasn't looking out for him.

But he needed to cash; Jorge would have to make a fast getaway if things went south. Urging the horse on again, Jorge approached the old man with trepidation.

"Hola, señor." He didn't bothering trying to hide his heritage; if the Sheriff knew him, he'd know him on sight. "I believe there's work?"
 

Doctor Jax

Lord of the Mice
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Na Zhao
Chinese Herbalist and Fortune Teller
Kuno Kuno

The road was a dusty, winding snake along which the wooden wagon seemed to inch behind a stagecoach. In the driver's seat, a woman of Chinese origin sat, face lightly lined, her hair twisted atop the back of her head. She wore the typical sundry of a pioneer woman, rather than anything overtly of Oriental make, save perhaps for a hairstick topped with a charm of jade. In her hands, a book lay open, Chinese characters scribbled across it with pictures of a man's form, delineating his many pathways for qi, that lifeforce which dictates all things. It was no easy thing to master, but a new acupuncture kit required further reading on its uses. It was perhaps her newest skill to date.

Rubbing her eyes, she put the book away into a black bag, in it several utensils that no doubt would appear foreign. A spyglass, a sewing kit, a thick and flat box with more of the same foreign writing, a series of coin purses and game pieces - and an old Volcanic repeater, with some loose ammunition. The woman shut the bag as they soon approached the town, a place of mean construction and countenance. It was not at all strange to her to see a place so seemingly deadened. There were plenty where the gold had run out, where the silver had run dry, where the water had evaporated to nothing under the unforgiving Western sun. The difference was, in such desperation, they were offering land for homesteads, and the woman, Na, knew she had little better chance of owning her a place on this Earth which was entirely in her possession.

Brown eyes tracked across the single street, taking in each and every building carefully. Before long, they had stopped before a house, and a man came out to speak with them - her presumption that this was the sheriff held true, and she felt a shiver of unease. She was not keen to stay at the Inn, instead used to sleeping in the wagon in which she rode. Not only was it home to her, but also left her possessions open to theft left unattended. A man of the cloth came to speak to them, offering them succor at the church, but she dispelled that as an option outright. Their faith seemed as bizarre to her, as her medicine seemed to them.

She would risk staying in the street. Unlikely that someone would allow her a room anyhow, even with plenty of coin to offer.

The Chinese newcomer instead pulled her wagon to a semi-open space near the stables, tucked between the laundry and the lot. It was a small, but well-made, wagon with a red-and-gold typeface across it: ZHAO'S FORTUNES AND MEDICINES, scrolled underneath against burgundy paint. She walked around to the back of the wagon after being sure that her horse was hobbled, and inside was a tiny home. A tiny bed on a shelf sat up against a minuscule stove big enough for one log. Plants of every variety hung from the ceiling or grew in pots about the floor, shelving full to the brim with herbs, spices, and other goods. She opened a cabinet and frowned at what stared at her. A near empty bag of cornmeal, absolutely no lard, half a tin of coffee. It looked like a visit to the General Goods store was necessary.

The Chinese woman took a straw hat off the bed, petting a gray tabby cat enjoying the rumpled bedcover, and she stuck it upon her head and pulled low over almond-shaped eyes. Grabbing her bag, she walked towards the General Store, and a smell accosted her. There was a dead horse in the road... and it had lain there for quite some time, it seemed. Not far, there was a broken wagon as well. There seemed some ill portent in that, though she wasn't sure what. As she walked towards the steps of the store, something scuttled away from her foot, and she drew back with a sharp inhale. Her eyes displayed overt concern as she finally stepped up to the storefront and walked through the door.

"Excuse me?" she asked, looking about for the counter. The store was worryingly sparse, perhaps the most anemic of any she had seen in her travels, at least in recent memory. She could feel second thoughts worming into her brain. This place may not be long for this world, and perhaps it would not do for her to hitch her wagon to its future.
 

Kuno

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Eczar

THE SALOON

PERRY THE DRUNK | NPC

The Saloon was easily the most well-maintained building in Highland. It had to be; the cornucopia of lively entertainment, it had seen its fair share of revelry and dancing and violent scuffles. There was a story behind every scratch etched into the wood, every blemish spattered across the floors, the counters, the small piano abutted against the rear walls. Someone had went and meticulously covered every mark with paint. The smell of drying paint assaulted one’s senses upon entering through the batwing doors.

It was not yet time for the night’s activities. The building lay quiet, an air of dormancy about it as the floorboards sighed under the newcomer’s feet. The only noise came from the man rustling about behind the counter. He was noticeably disheveled. His hat lay half-cocked on his head, and his beard was long and unkempt, streaked through at the bottom with red Utah dirt. His long gray duster was frayed at the ends and riddled with holes. He was very obviously not the barman, or at least not a very proper one, and as he spun around to face the two strangers, he hurried to shove a purloined bottle of wine deeper into his pockets. His eyes were red from the Devil’s poison.

“Uh huh, base burna’. Twos, youse say? Alrighty. Coming right up.”

The shelves behind the bar were filled to the brim with bottles of liquor. They must’ve just gotten in a new shipment the night before. At that, the man laughed to himself, because of course they had restocked. Little scheming bastards.

As drunk as he was, he poured with impeccable precision.

“A little for youse, a little for the lady, a little for me...a little more for me.”

Cackling to himself, he poured himself two extra drinks before slamming the bottle down onto the counter. It was a miracle the glass did not break.

“So!” He boomed suddenly, slouching against the countertop. He was uncomfortably close, and his breath reeked of bourbon.

“Yer the new ones coming for the circus. Brave souls, ain’t cha? Perry loves it.” From upstairs, there was a faint noise of a footstep, and Perry stiffened, eyes darting towards the stairs. When no other sound followed, he downed his first glass of alcohol with a flourish and continued with, “Youse oughta know that Perry knows more about ol’ Highland than anyone else here. Betcha tell you the truth over these other devils ‘round these parts. I used to work the mines, ya know.”

It was obvious that he needed no one other than himself to keep a conversation going. His hands snatched up the bottle of whiskey against the counter, and he shook it loosely at Henrietta and Moses.

“Another drink, friends?” He grinned toothily. “On the house.”


Applo Applo Mobley Eats Mobley Eats


Eczar

THE INN

OLD MAN WORTH | NPC

Within Highland’s Inn lay a relic so old that he looked to have spawned from the earth itself. Behind the lobby counter, Old Man Worth slept in his red rocking chair. A pile of wrinkles in men’s clothing, he sat so still that at first glance he appeared to be dead.

“Seven rooms!” the pseudo corpse suddenly rasped, and he roused with a sputtering cough. His eyes were covered with a fine, grey film. He tilted his body towards the sound of Helene’s voice and rose, feeling his way out in front of him until he at last bumped against the counter.

“I have seven rooms, young lady. All of which are in fine order, yes. You’ll find them very suitable for a long stay.

“But my keys,” He continued, grasping at the counter drawers. “The room keys. If you can just help me find them…My eyes aren’t as good as they used to be.”

The first drawer came open with a small tug. Nothing but a pistol and a small pile of daguerreotypes were to be found, and the old man clucked his tongue at the sight. The second drawer revealed even more daguerreotypes. One image in particular seemed to catch his eye; it captured a group of 37 men clustered in front of what appeared to be mining equipment, circa 1873. Old Man Worth stared at it for an excruciatingly long time. When he finally looked back at the two, he started.

“Oh, hello! Can I help you?” He asked, blinking in confusion at the sight of the two strangers. Then, after a beat, he added, “Are you here for the circus, friends?”


Youreverydaywildchild Youreverydaywildchild The Wanderer The Wanderer
 

Kuno

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Eczar

THE GENERAL GOODS STORE

SAMUEL & TERESA MAY JAMES | NPC

Their voices were low at first. One male, another female, their words spilling unevenly over each other’s near the back of the store.

“How long? How much longer?”

“Confound it-”

“Sam, please.”

“I am not going to argue with you on this every day. Now you listen-”

“No. No.”

“Just listen-”

At the sound of Na’s inquiry, the heated exchange died away. There was the sound of a door slamming shut, before a taller man briskly stepped into the Chinese woman’s field of vision.

“Hello, hello! How do you do?”

The Scotsman greeted Na with a broad smile. The older man was dressed smartly, looking decidedly at odds with the shambled backdrop. He took in Na’s Asian features and adjusted accordingly, swiftly retracting his hand and instead inclining his head in a slight bow. Taking up his place behind the counter, he made a show of pulling a black cash register from underneath the counters. A thin layer of dust covering the apparatus spoke of disuse. Pursing his lips, the man blew the dust from the cash register and coughed.

“Take a look ‘round the shop, and let me know if anything strikes your fancy.”

There was hardly anything on the shelves. Some canned goods, housewares, and other varied essentials jostled for space amongst the many cobwebs hanging loosely across the shelves. An axe lay propped against the door leading to the backroom. What looked to be rust and bits of animal fur clung to its blade.

“Anything in particular you’re hunting for?” the man went on, smile unwavering.

Behind Na, at the rear of the store, a native woman swept away at the dirt streaked across the floor. Now and then, her eyes would flick over to the man, then the customer, and back again. Her eyes were noticeably red from crying.


Doctor Jax Doctor Jax


Eczar

THE SHERIFF'S OFFICE

ELIJAH COTTING | NPC

Sheriff Cotting had one hand on the doorknob. The other came to rest against his hip as he stared back blankly at the new face at his door. There was a biting comment on the end of his tongue, but at the priest’s appearance, his disposition softened.

“Yeah, there’s work,” He said gruffly. “The mayor’s got a-hold-ah it, though. Me, I just…”

He threw a furtive look at the building across the way. Painted a soft grey, the mayor’s office rivaled the church in terms of austerity, the plainness of its features almost making it an eyesore compared to its more vibrant neighbors. The sheriff seemed to eye the windows in particular. In the upstairs window, he thought he saw a curtain close, and his nostrils flared.

“I reckon you’re pretty handy with that gun,” He put simply, nodding at the shooting iron at Jorge’s side. He did not seem to realize the sudden shift of the conversation. “Bet you got experience with horses too.”

He considered carefully what he was about to say next. Methodically, with a practiced hand, he scooped out some of the snuff from his tin and patted it into his palm. He stopped just shy of tucking it in his cheeks. Again his eyes went to the windows across the way.

“The boys caught a mustang some days back. A strong bastard, with a helluva kick. Truth be told, no one so far can tame the damn thing, and at this point he’s bound to destroy the whole stable if we don’t deal with him soon. Keeps turning loose and tearing up the roads.

“Break ‘em in, and he’s good as yours, plus 5 for the trouble. Hell, and if you can’t, I’ll give you five dollars just to take care of the sucker. Either or.”

It was a bit unorthodox for the man to assign such a role to someone he’d only just met. But he knew, even if Jorge didn’t, that he would be held accountable for his actions, whether he decided to do the sheriff’s bidding or not. Besides…

“Father, why don’t you tag along with him?” He paused, frowning. “Angel’s been meaning to meet ya, and he might have a horse ready for you now. If you please.”


Red Thunder Red Thunder
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Youreverydaywildchild

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Helene waited patiently for a response, as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighted she began to look around at the wares. Everything about the place was old and dusty. The wood was probably littered with termites, many animals and insects such as spiders and scorpions using the holes in the worn down building as homes.

The brunette touched her rosary that sat neatly in her pocket. Moving the band around between her index and thumb she softly mumbled to herself a prayer as each each passed along her fingers. Her eye sighted was focused now behind the counter. There was the slightest of movement of the rocking chair that sat behind the dusty counter. Helene squinted to focus her sight. Could it be the Inn owner?

Just then what had looked like a pile of clothes sprang up.
"Seven rooms!"
Helene jumped back with a Yelp her own, scared out of her wits at the sudden Introduction. Her first had balled up in her pocket holding her rosary close. For a moment she thought the elder man was some sort of spirit or work of the devil.

With deep breaths Helene attempted to still her heart. The cacophony of harsh thumping and heavy breaths made her ears numb.
"I have seven rooms, young lady. All of which are in fine order, yes. You’ll find them very suitable for a long stay. But my keys,"
She watched as the elderly man began to shuffle around behind the counter. The sound of old drawers opening and closing filled the dusty air.
"The room keys. If you can just help me find them…My eyes aren’t as good as they used to be.”
Helene nods and begins looking around the room. She no idea where to start. Maybe up stairs in the bedrooms? The man could have dropped them when he left the building.

She turned back to the old man. His sight fixed on whatever he saw in that drawer, Helen peeked over to see. Only catching glimpse of what looked to be 20 or 30 so odd men gathered around something. She wondered if it was of all the men in the town.

When the old man refocused onto them Helen backed away not wanting to get caught snooping.

"Oh, hello! Can I help you? Are you here for the circus, friends?”
Helene blinked, now a bit lost. Had the man forgotten already? Again Helene approached the counter, her eyes searching his. "Sir... we came to find lodging. You have some rooms, yes? One for myself and that man? If you could hand us the key we can attend to the rooms ourselves." She was hoping to jog his idle memory, so they could begin the search for the keys properly.
 
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PoetLore

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Frank led his own wagon into town about an hour or so after the coach arrived. He'd been traveling alone since his sister had decided to marry that slick talking fella a few towns back. That whole situation wasn't sitting well with him even now, but that sparkle in her eye and happy smile had been his undoing. He saw people milling about and pulled back on the leads to stop his horses so he could get a feel for the place. Pulling the ad from his pocket he read the notice and looked around for the mayor's office.

Seeing the placard labeling the office he hopped down and tied the team to the hitching post next to them. He tipped his hat to anyone that happened to cross his path, but he was eagle eyed on that office door. He wanted one of those jobs and he had no intention of being last in line. Long strides saw him across the road and up onto the wooden walkway faster than would seem normal, but once there he saw that there was no one inside and that the door was locked. "Just like a Mayor type," he spoke aloud without much respect for the position, "Never around when they should be working..." He guessed this place wasn't going to be any different than anywhere else after all.

Turning back to face the street he saw a number of folks headed for the Inn and with a rub to the back of his neck he followed. his loping lazy gait was misleading since he covered a good deal of distance with each stride of his long legs. Removing his hat as he entered, he waited for the old man to tend to everyone else before he stepped forward. "Have any rooms left?" he asked when he got to the old man's desk.
 

Red Thunder

A Warrior in a Garden
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EL BANDITO GUAPO

Screenshot_20191214-141453~2.png

Father? A Catholic priest?

From atop has horse, Jorge shifted his gaze, following that of the old sheriff. Ah, sure enough; an American, somewhat thin, wearing the clothes of the office in question. He eyed the man with incredulity, wondering at his presence here. To be sure, Jorge was no stranger to the Catholic faith, if in fact he had long since forgone any of its rituals, but this seemed to be a hard town, filled with hard people who, if Jorge's first impression of the sheriff were any indication, would sooner string you up as step foot inside any house of God.

But then, so long as his priest was no head hunter, Jorge saw no issue with him. No, he considered with grit teeth, the real issue would be the damned mustang. On the one hand, having a young horse with real strength and spirit would be good; this Perra of his was as broken a beast he'd ever known. On the other hand, Jorge considered with a grimace, breaking a mustang, a horse of the wild, was no mean feat. Particularly if it hadn't yet been gelded.

"Si, jefe; I'll do it. Has- erm, I must ask, is it a gelding?"

Sheriff Cotting shook his head once, blinking slowly as he did. Jorge clicked his tongue but nodded. No apparent recognition of the bandit on the sheriff's part, and save for the comment about knowing horses, no mention of history or misdeeds. Excellent; it might be, if he managed this job, he could take the mustang and leave Highland far behind; the deeper into the wild he went, the better he'd feel.

"Well, Padré?" A crooked smile laced his lips, and he leaned against his saddle horn to talk to Father Mac. "Where is this Angel?"
Hamlowe Hamlowe
 

Hamlowe

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Fr McCarthy Avatar.jpg


Father McCarthy


The crowd dispersed almost immediately after the priest spoke. He quirked his lips with a mote of disapproval, but naturally people of the world should seek out their corporal needs before the spiritual. The Fathers would chastise such sensibility as contrary to virtue, but everyone started somewhere. St Peter started a fisherman and ended the first Pontifex, after all. Then again, he had been called by the Lord Himself. These souls had but a humble Hibernian, younger than many he'd ministered to both back East and out here.

Thus perturbed by his own circling thoughts, the priest turned on his heel and sought out the Sheriff. They'd met briefly after the morning's Mass, which was enough to recognize him by sight a scarce few hours later, but he knew little else about the man. He would learn, though, in time.

The swarthy horseman immediately piqued Father McCarthy's suspicions, mostly on account of his rough manner. He wouldn't call him diabolical on such an impression, but certainly a potential danger. The Sheriff seemed unmoved, though, so the priest let his suspicions die as quickly as they'd arisen. He didn't miss the Sheriff's brief look at something behind them, as if he'd seen something. It was odd.

But not as odd as being asked—which seemed as good as ordered—to accompany the ruffian on his horse-taming errand. Father McCarthy opened his mouth to protest, but the Sheriff's logic was sound. If someone wanted to meet him already, he couldn't well refuse.

"Very well," he finally said, to the sheriff. Before he could leave, the horseman leaned down and asked him if he knew where Angel was.

"I'd guess he's at the stables," Father McCarthy replied, his Irish lilt giving his dry tone a playful undertone. "Trying to keep that stallion from destroying the place." With a smile, he started for the stables. At least he knew where that was, having stabled his previously borrowed horse there last night without meeting anyone. Perhaps Angel was nothing more than the man one saw about a horse.

Red Thunder Red Thunder
 

Mobley Eats

Consume. Smother your doubts. Be fulfilled.
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Moses
Interactions: Perry The Drunk Kuno Kuno & Henrietta Applo Applo




Oh... Maybe Moses would be making friends with the local drunk. Yet again. One glance at those burning eyes and clay dusted beard, and Moses would down right call himself blind for concluding otherwise. He half wondered where everyone else was or, at the very least, the whereabouts of this tavern's owner. Who done went and let him weasel his way into the bar? From the looks of how quickly he slipped that bottle into his pocket like a slippery viper, he'd be prancing off with a mighty fine steal long before anyone caught him.

Or reported it...

Nah. Snitchin' wasn't part of Moses's game either. Toying around with that just lead to pointing fingers and people never took too kindly to that; all it did was ruffle their feathers and send them bucking off like a bull seeing red. He already had his objective in mind--sharing a civil drink. Ain't no way he was gonna let this odd yet friendly development steer him away from it. A development with surprisingly adept pouring skills, at that.

Very nice. Moses would acknowledge the praise where it was deserved.

But then a steam cloud for a breath nailed him in the face and Moses couldn't fight the millisecond flash of a grimace from flying through his features. Regardless, he wrangled back the disgust and raised his glass between them, the most subtly way he could help provide elbow room between Perry and the lady. "Cheers, my good man. Ma'am." The last of his words came with a tilt of the head in his drinking partner's direction, before tossing back the shot in one go. Oh... Hell yeah. Judging by the muted shiver that coursed down his spine, his system had been crying out for this liquid bite far louder than he initially thought. This was some quality stuff.

Then Perry launched into a conversation all on his own. Heh--maybe he'd been eavesdropping on his thoughts a few moments ago? Either way, Moses found himself grateful and let Perry's bourbon-wrought mouth flap away as he pleased. Then his gaze snapped up the same time Perry's did, his sudden tension so infectious that the mulatto's own muscles stiffened up... The hell was that all about? Was that the manager? Perhaps Perry had enough awareness left in him to at least recognize the possibility of getting booted for stealing. Or worse. Who knew how ruthless Highland businessmen could be.

"Seems like yer circus missing a few clowns, ain't it?" Moses asked lightly, pointedly shifting his gaze about the empty tavern. However, he perked up a bit at the offer of information. Hell, he'd take it from anyone. There was nothing wrong with collecting as much intel as you could and sifting through the grit for gold later. "I'm all ears for a good mines story, Perry. Lay one on me." He extending his empty glass for Perry to refill. Hell, if he was gonna be a hanger-on for the night, he'd might as well take it before the auger came bursting in like Hell on high water.



 

The Wanderer

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David

David was simply checking out the interior when someone walked into the waiting room, a newcomer like him. Whom attempted to strike a conversation, to which he simply responded with a simple hat tip and a "Mhm."

That was when the caretaker of the building made himself known, the man in question looking like he was leather incarnate that was left out to dry and then covered in salt. "Seven rooms!" He announced, before making a request for assistance in locating his keys. And just as they were going to do so, the old man then suddenly asked them if they were here for the circus after looking all confused.

This wasn't good, if the man's memory was spotty, the task of getting a room was going to be difficult. But just to placate the old man in his question. "No. Just work." He did say thanks to the lady when she spoke up about the lodgings. Then he went about looking for every nook and cranny that could maybe house the lost keys.

If the search in the lobby didn't produce any results, he would go over to the old man and simply ask. "Do you remember what you were doing with the keys last?"

Kuno Kuno Youreverydaywildchild Youreverydaywildchild
 

Doctor Jax

Lord of the Mice
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Na Zhao[/size[
[szie=18px]Chinese Fortuneteller and Herbalist


Na realized soon enough she had intruded upon an already in-progress conversation. A request denied, an argument well-trode, from the sounds of it. She kept her head down, nonetheless, looking between the Scottish owner and the native woman sweeping by the back door. Her initial impression of the store was further cemented upon the shopkeeper removing a register that looked as if it had not been used once in the preceding decade. She tried to keep her doubtful expression off of her face.

Things felt... strange. Naturally, she was curious what the conversation was about, but she knew better than to ask. Instead, she looked about in a bid to try and find the things she wanted with sight alone. She meandered by the shelves, wary of the man behind the counter.

"I am doing quite well, thank you," she said in slightly accented English, deliberately articulated. "I am new to town, and I am searching for coffee, lard, cornmeal... I have little left."

She felt unsure she would find that here. Everything was covered in cobwebs. When was the last time someone had come in to buy a single thing here? Was this a ghost town already? Perhaps that was the reason they had opened so much land to outsiders. They needed to revitalize a coughing economy. Her eyes flickered away from some tins of beans to the native woman sweeping, noticing the tear tracks down her face, and her eyes narrowed.

"I believe I am able to find it myself, if you have it. I will ask if I do not find them. Thank you," she said politely, if a bit stiffly. With that, she began to mosey down the shelving, picking up a bottle of what looked to have been molasses under the dust. Eventually, she was beside the woman, and she smiled, her face abruptly far warmer than when she had walked in.

"Hello, Miss. I am also looking for yarrow - white flowers, tall, good to stop bleeding. Do you know where I might find some here around the town?" Na asked quietly, hoping to get her attention. It seemed her curiosity could not be abated, after all. Her eyes fell upon the axe at the door, stuck with fur. This place continued to baffle.

Kuno Kuno
 

Applo

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“Much obliged.” Henrietta’s carefully crafted smiled hadn’t faded under the glare of Perry’s alcohol soaked attention. Smiling and playing real friendly like with drunks was her stock and trade and this particular drunk was quite possibly the one she was hoping would employ her; every second was an audition. Sure the Sheriff has said that the mayor would find them jobs, but why go to the bother. Henrietta knew what she wanted, anything else would just be a dull hassle to be dealt with. She didn’t need the headache; just dollars and to put the past to be even further in the past by having fun doing what she knew how to do.

Delicately and with just a hint of ceremony, Henrietta lifted the first drink to her lips and drained it in one go. Once the glass was empty she placed it on the bar for Perry to fill.

“Now tell me, Perry, before this fine liquor goes to my head and I can’t see sense for sand, what is this about a circus? I didn’t know that Highland was such a fine place as to have a circus come visit.” It was shameless flattery of the highest order but Henrietta carried on as if she had said nothing more consequential than that the sky was blue.“I do love to see a circus. It reminds me of when I was just a wee little girl. Cause those circus folk can be mighty weird but I’m sure a rough, tough ex-miner like you would be able to keep quite safe from harm . You could tell me all those secrets you know at the same time.”

Used to working a room of men at once, the redhead twisted until she was looking at her dark-skinned drinking partner. “I’m certain you would be equally as good a chaperone... what was your name sweetheart? I am afraid that we failed to introduce ourselves to each other, and my manners seem to have deserted me entirely. My name is Henrietta.” A conspiratorial, almost intimate, smile flashed at both Moses and Perry. “My friends call me Hetty.”​